


A Cup of Cold Tea

by FandomsAreMyFuel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, One-Shot, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomsAreMyFuel/pseuds/FandomsAreMyFuel
Summary: To Sherlock, he wasn't his John anymore.Not a single night with smiles and laughter over morning tea.Not a single day where John snarks at him over the table about his experiments whilst reading the newspaper.Not a single thing happened as before.Sherlock's heart pounded for that voice to tell him something other than silence.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 33





	A Cup of Cold Tea

To Sherlock, he wasn't his John anymore. Not a single night with smiles and laughter over morning tea. Not a single day where John snarks at him over the table about his experiments whilst reading the newspaper. Not a single thing happened as before. Sherlock's heart pounded for that voice to tell him something other than silence. 

Sherlock didn't cry, not since the time he was thrown off from his bicycle at four. At least Mycroft was there for him. Now, he was alone, just like before. Alone protected him from a lot of things, one of them was the tears that ran down his face.

There in his room, he leaned against the window, arms pressed against the wall. He turned around to see the night sky, the lights pretending to be stars. He just wanted to hear John Watson shoo him to sleep.

He let himself cry, just this once. "Sherlock Holmes," He stared at the wall, "Pathetic, he's gone... you can deal with this." He glared at the ceiling with the darkness shrouding him, except for the small sliver of light from the flat that was lit for a ghost.

John Watson stepped into that flat, hearing the faint whispers of a chastising man, not chastising anyone but himself. "The man who doesn't care is crying," Sherlock muttered, and John Watson stood by the doorway. There was the barely audible sound of Sherlock's back sliding against the wall. "You let John Watson break you."

He didn't go in.

John Watson would return a few days later and Sherlock was still in his room, the man hadn't come out. He opened the door as little as he needed to. He saw the slumped figure of Sherlock as he flicked on the lights. The man's heads scrambled into his hands as he muffled to himself.

"Sherlock?"

"Go away," Was all he heard.

"Sherlock."

"I'm fine," Was the man's hiccuped response, yet John Watson stepped into the door, closing the lights. There, in front of both of them was a picture of them from the first few cases. Scattered around like memories. That night, Sherlock Holmes slept, in the comfort of John Watson's embrace.

John didn't see him for a couple of days, really, three was the number of days Sherlock had disappeared for. Still, his hands shook as he did what should've been left away ages ago.

Sherlock came back with a zipped mouth and no words to speak. He spotted a small tray on John's chair, one that had dozens of teacups piled on top of it. Each was cold according to the day they were made. Next to him was scattered ginger biscuits, the only kind he would eat.

Sherlock picked up the tea from last night. As much as he hated his tea cold, he still couldn't resist. He never knew at what point his face flooded with tears, the moment he could taste the past or when he realized it had gone cold all over again.

John never saw someone cry when drinking tea, not over his tea, at least. But he knew that Sherlock Holmes wasn't the usual "someone." 

The fourth night, the night Sherlock was found sleeping on his chair, John tapped his awake and handed him a warm cup of tea. Freshly made, just like before.


End file.
